Jan. 2nd, 2011

schrodingersghost: (dizzy)
[Danny sits on his bed tightly holding a cloth to his shoulder and trying to clean the salt out of his shoulder.  He'd made it back to his room. Eventually.  Who knew getting shot with salt would hurt this much?  He just lies there for a moment, breathing harshly and clutching his shoulder, before he forces himself to reach for his communicator. 

This sucked.  He just knew anyone he asked for help would freak out.  But of course he just had to get shot in a spot he couldn't bandage on his own.
]

[text]

Jazz?  Don?  Are you home right now?

[/text]

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Danny Fenton

April 2017

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